


beati estis cum maledixerint vobis

by catie_writes_things



Series: qui coepit in vobis opus bonum (Father Todd AU) [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Catholic, Father Todd AU, Gen, Jason Todd is a Priest, Religion, Spiritual, no sacraments were harmed in the making of this fic, the Joker has terrible opinions about Batman, the Joker talks too much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 06:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12599852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catie_writes_things/pseuds/catie_writes_things
Summary: The story of a man who would never change, and a man who did.Father Jason Todd is called to the deathbed of Arkham Asylum's most infamous patient.





	beati estis cum maledixerint vobis

The rectory phone rang late Saturday night, as Jason was reading on the couch. Setting aside Saint Catherine’s Dialogues, he answered it on the third ring.

“Is this Father Jason Todd?” a female voice asked.

“Yes.”

“My name is Dr. Fernandez. I work at Arkham.” She paused, briefly. “I’m calling because...well, it’s a bit of an odd request…”

“Try me,” he said with a tired smile. He was a Gotham City priest, after all.

“We have...a patient...who’s dying. He...” The doctor paused again, clearly uncomfortable.

“He requested a priest?” Jason guessed.

“Well, yes. Actually, he requested _you_ , specifically. I don’t know if you...have a connection?”

“Who’s the patient?”

“Well, he’s...that is, technically, he’s a John Doe, but everyone…” Jason could hear the doctor take a deep breath on the other end of the line, and his heart plummeted. He knew what her next words would be. “It’s the Joker.”

“I see.”

“I understand if you don’t want to come…” She trailed off into awkward silence.

“No,” he said after a moment’s consideration. “I...I should go. I’ll be there in an hour.”

As he collected the necessary things and drove to the asylum, Jason quietly repeated the St. Michael prayer, for he could not shake the feeling of going into battle.

* * *

  
“Hello, Padre!”

The Joker was restrained in the infirmary bed, though he looked half dead already. His skin was more sickly yellow than paper white, and his hair more dull gray than bright green. The mess of tubes and wires snaking off his withered body made him no less repulsive, though perhaps more pathetic.

Jason held the black leather case containing his sick call kit in front of him with one arm. Years of training he would never shake told him this was an obvious defensive posture, a dead giveaway that he was going into this confrontation on weak footing. But no matter how much the memory of Bruce’s scolding echoed in his ears, he didn’t feel like sacrificing the comfort of having the pyx inside the case between him and the Joker.

“Why did you want to see me?”

“Oh, do I have sins I could tell you,” the Joker said with a conspiratorial wink. “Of course, you’ve got a few good ones yourself, don’t you, Jaybird? Hey, wanna trade? Tell you mine if you tell me yours?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Aw, come on, _Red_. Don’t be like that.”

Though Jason hadn’t touched a bottle of black dye since before his ordination, he had a sinking feeling the nickname was not a dig at his natural hair color.

“Are you sorry?” he asked, more accuser than comforting spiritual father. Cardinal Tolan’s gentle rebuke replaced Bruce’s scolding in his mind, but he continued. “Are you sorry for any of the things you’ve done?”

“Hmm…” The Joker tilted his head to one side, as if thinking. He probably would have tapped his chin if his hands had not been bound. “Nope!” He laughed, but it was only a wheezing echo of his notorious manic laughter.

“Then why am I here?” Jason demanded.

“That _is_ why, Padre! Don’t tell the other little birdies, but you were always my favorite. The way you _cried_ when that crowbar hit you! Why, that’s one of my happiest memories.”

Jason looked away, his face hot with anger. His right hand held the leather case to his chest. His left hand was clenched in a fist, shaking.

“Do you want to receive the sacraments?” he said through gritted teeth.

“Yes, I know it’s you, Red,” the Joker continued, pointedly not answering his question. “But don’t worry, I’m not telling. I’ve known for a long time. Bit of a disappointment, really, your bat-dad’s big secret. But it _has_ been fun having that on him.”

Jason’s heart was pounding. “If you don’t want to receive the sacraments, I’m going to leave.”

“You can’t go yet, Padre! I was just saying how you were my favorite. You died so well! And then you came back to torment the old man! Oh, that was better than anything _I_ could have done to him!” The Joker gave a wistful sigh. “I never did thank you properly for making sure I was there to see it.”

Jason still refused to look at him “What do you want from me?” he asked quietly. That particular question wasn’t directed at the Joker, so of course he chose that one to answer.

“The only thing I’ve ever wanted, Red: a good laugh!” And he let loose another wheezing fit, more cough than cackle.

“Of course, it did spoil the joke when you found religion,” he continued. “Traded your berettas for a biretta, eh? Not how I imagined you wearing all black when you grew up…”

“If it were up to you, I never would have grown up,” Jason bit back.

The Joker’s eyes lit up. “Ha! There’s that spunk I remember!” he crowed. “You’re right, the tragic abbreviation of your youth was my magnum opus. But once you made your comeback? Oh boy, was I rooting for you! A gun-toting, wisecracking Batman who shoots crime in the face? Why, it would have been the perfect mockery of everything the old man stood for!”

He wheezed again, even weaker than before. Laughing all the way to Hell, it seemed. Jason took a step towards the door.

“Wait, Padre!” the Joker called out weakly. “I haven’t given you your goodbye present yet.”

Against his better judgement, Jason stopped.

“Look in there,” the Joker said, nodding towards the sink in the corner of the room with a small cabinet over it. Cautiously, Jason crossed the room and opened the metal cabinet door.

Inside, there was a crowbar.

“Now, time was, you would have put that to good use without hesitating,” the Joker taunted behind him. “You _did_ , in fact. And I know it’s not the same, what with me already on my way out, but I figure that means this is your last chance to get a few more good whacks in.”

Jason turned to look at the sickly man. “You _want_ me to…”

“Get your poetic revenge? Absolutely! Like I said, I never got to thank you properly for that showdown in crime alley, _Red_. And what better way than this? An eye for an eye, a crowbar for a crowbar, right?”

Jason’s heart was still pounding. He set his sick call kit down next to the sink. Both hands were shaking now, with anger or fear, he wasn’t sure. Maybe both.

“Come on, Jaybird,” the Joker coaxed. “If you were still wearing the helmet, I’d be a bloody pulp already. Hell, you would have done it when you were wearing the short pants, if you thought daddy would have let you get away with it. We both know you still want to. Just because you’re wearing the collar now, don’t expect me to believe you’ve gone soft.”

Jason looked at the crowbar, still propped against the inside of the cabinet. It wasn’t the same one, obviously, but he could still feel it, every blow. He could still hear the Joker’s laugh, full-throated the way it had been in his prime. This man had killed him, killed _a child_ , and he’d laughed while he’d done it.

And he wasn’t sorry, at all. He was proud.

Jason took a deep breath. He remembered how he had cried, on the floor of that warehouse, just like the Joker had said. He remembered how he had prayed for Bruce to come save him, for anyone to save him. He reached out towards the cabinet with one hand, still shaking.

He shut the door.

“Do you want to receive the sacraments?” Jason asked once again, though it felt like his voice didn’t even belong to him anymore. With strength no more his own than his voice, he turned and looked the Joker in the eye.

The Joker was frowning like a petulant child. “I’ve changed my mind,” he rasped. “You’re no fun anymore. No fun at all. You-”

But whatever insult he had been about to hurl was lost in another fit of wheezing coughs, involuntary this time. It didn’t stop.

Calmly, Jason pushed the call button by the bed. Dr. Fernandez entered the room, accompanied by a nurse. There was a flurry of activity for several minutes, and then stillness. Fernandez pronounced the Joker dead.

The doctor looked at Jason in silent curiosity, no doubt wondering what had passed in her infamous patient’s final moments, but clearly knowing better than to ask.

“Could you...give me a moment?” Jason asked.

Fernandez hesitated, but then acquiesced. Jason looked at the man who had haunted his nightmares for years. The clown’s mouth was slack now, neither grinning nor scowling.

This man had done untold evil. He had been the cause, deliberately, of all the worst suffering in Jason’s own life. He had shown no remorse, refused the sacraments, and died full of bitterness and spite. What was left for a priest to do here?

Returning to the sink, Jason opened the unused leather case and removed the small prayer book. He found the appropriate page quickly as he walked back to the bedside. Placing his right hand, no longer shaking, on the waxen forehead of the corpse, he read the familiar words.

“Requiem aeternam dona ei, Domine…”

  



End file.
